Nothing's free
by elfin2
Summary: Waterworld fanfic what if the Mariner wasn't the only one with gills? What if another existed, one who didn't have his own boat to run away from trouble in? Could a person like that ever find a home?
1. Leaving home

**Chapter 1: Leaving home**

This was me. A girl. Big for a girl, but a girl. I could feel my mother's hand on my elbow, my father's on my back, pushing me forward; I stumbled and tripped. My brother threw something at me.

"This is the prettiest girl here?" the drifter said sarcastically. I'd never seen a black man before. Oddly enough, he didn't scare me. I was more scared of my family. "Your atoll is in a very bad state, then." He reached out and cupped my chin. I looked at him, curious. His face was shaped strangely, the top of the head sloping back. His hair was incredibly wiry and thick. "Young."

"Well, duh," I snapped. "The older girls are taken already."

"She, ah, will learn respect," my mother said hurriedly.

"Where'd you get the necklace from?" He touched it. I flinched.

"We traded."

"Really. It's worth more than everything else here except that." He pointed to the book on the shelf. "She'll do."

"She'll do what?" I asked. "I am here, you know." My father raised a hand to hit me and the drifter caught his wrist. "You want to trade? I don't buy damaged goods."

"I'm not a slave," I snapped.

"No," he agreed. "Grab your things."

"You have no place here now," my father told me. "Finally you can do us some good."

I looked at him, cold with rage and fear and resentment, and gripped our boat-hook lying near my hand and hit him with it as hard as I could.  
He fell back bleeding and stunned. His leg was badly torn.

"You'll have to sell all your kids to pay your way as a cripple," I said. "You son of a bitch." I slammed the handle on his knee.

"You…!" My brother leaped at me and was back-handed by the drifter.

"Leave her alone," he said. "I protect what's mine. Grab your things."

I reached for the book, my fishing lines, my rope, my cooking and sewing things, my ink bottle and pens.

"You read?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"Good. I've always wanted to learn. Is that everything."

"That pot isn't yours," my mother said from the floor where she was weeping over my father. "It's mine."

"You said it was my dowry. I'm taking it and fuck you."

"Not much family affection here."

"They took me in for charity and never let me forget it."

"Sounds like you were never free."

"You're free when you die. Now get out of the doorway." He followed me down the ramp to his boat; I felt like I was walking to my execution. I saw everyone staring at me like a piece of filth.

My lips thinned. As I passed the headman, I paused and kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. "May you die slowly and painfully," I told him. "And soon."

"Why would you want her? She's a freak."

The drifter stared at the old man. "I like a fight. Do you?"

No one wanted to challenge a man more than six inches taller than any of us with muscles like rope and skin like night.

His boat was small, but larger than my family's room. I couldn't get away. If he wanted to rape or torture or kill me, my only option would be to jump overboard and swim away.

Then what? There was nowhere I could get to before I died for lack of fresh water.

"This way," he said. "Toss your bag down into the hold and take the boat-hook. Get us past those nets."

"Alright," I finally said, ready to cry. I bit my lip. This had happened so fast I had no idea how to react. I did what he said numbly. Perhaps if I did what he wanted he wouldn't hit me too hard.

He took the tiller and raised the sails. His boat was old, rickety, the kind that you're always fixing. I hoped he could keep it afloat.

The people on the atoll clustered on the edge to watch me go. I felt like a plague carrier.

"They really don't like you," he said mildly. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" I turned away and went to sit on the edge of the boat. I didn't want to talk to him. "Why?"

"You'll see. Don't get sunburned."

"Never do." That was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

"Can you cook?"

"Yes."

"Good. Catch us some dinner, would you?"

I sighed and picked up a net on a pole. "Line fishing's next to useless this time of year." I looked around. "You got a spare coil of rope?"

He handed me one. "This'll do." Good, thick cord. I tied it off to a brace and jumped into the water. I smiled as I felt the water close. I'd never known how it happened. The gills behind my ears expanded as the water rushed in. It was a totally different sensation from breathing. The first time it happened, I nearly panicked. Then I learned to love it. I headed down, looking for fish.

There was a flock not fifty yards away. I swam over and caught a few. Cod. Good eating. I came back up, hauling myself onto the boat along the line as it picked up speed, dumped the fish, then went back down. A few more trips and we had enough for dinner and breakfast both.

He raised an eyebrow. "I can't hold my breath for that long." I ignored it and looked for a flat surface to gut the fish on. It was nearly dark.

It turned out the only electric gadget on his boat was a stove. It ran off a solar cell. He looked surprised when I knew how to use it.

"Is there anything you don't know?" he asked me.

"I don't know what you want."

He dropped down beside me. "Where'd you come from?"

"Why do you care?"

"If you're always so nasty, no wonder they wanted to get rid of you. I hope you brought a blanket. It gets cold at night."

"Does the word duh mean anything to you?" At least he hadn't hit me. I had no blanket. I used a spare bit of sail-cloth instead. At least he had that. He sighed and went below.

"It's going to rain."

"I know."

I woke several times during the night; he came up to trim the sails when the wind shifted. I just went back to sleep. Let him think I was a heavy sleeper. He didn't need to know I wasn't.

"Rise and shine," he called after dawn.

"That's the sun, not me." I got up anyway. "You're burning breakfast."

"You cook, then." I did and we ate in silence. He kept eying the sky. "What?"

"I was hoping it would rain again."

"Water?"

"Water." He looked at his supply. "There's enough."

"Enough for what, for me to die slowly?"

"Enough to get us home."

"Drifters don't have a home. That's why they're drifters."

"I'm a trader, not a drifter."

"Damn fine line." I looked around.

"Have some water." He handed me a small cup; I drank. "Need to piss?"

"No." I went back to sitting on the edge of the boat.

"Clean your teeth." I did, and combed my hair. Not that there was much to comb.

"How far away is your home?"

"About six days."

"Never heard of anywhere that close."

"It's not been there long."

"Many people?"

"No." Fewer people was bad. The more people the longer I could hide.

"You need anything?"

"If I did, I'd ask."

"It's not my fault you're here. Why are you being like this?"

"Am I supposed to just fall into your bed in an orgy of gratitude because you took me away from my home and turned me into a slave? I may not have had much there, but at least it was mine, and I was free." I turned away. "Go away. Touch me and I'll break your fingers." He took his hand away; he had been about to touch my shoulder.

"It's going to be a long and lonely six days if you're like this all the time."

"Suits me." I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be able to live in the salty sea like a fish, no humans to hurt me. Just sharks and big fish and rocks on the bottom.

If only I could stay down there forever.

**Author's note:** This was the first fanfic I ever wrote. I abandoned it for a while, and recently came back to it. I'm re-uploading it so it's in a readable format.


	2. Safety in swimming

**Chapter 2: Safety in swimming**

Later that day he came over to me. "Who taught you to read?"

"We had a priest. He taught me."

"Had?"

"He died."

"Are you always so talkative?"

"What's to say?"

"How old you are. What foods you like. What you do for fun. Why your family were so willing to sell you?"

"I'm a slave now. It doesn't matter."

"You're not a slave."

"You bought me for jewellery. I'm a slave. What's left to say?" I looked away.

"I could teach you to handle the boat." I said nothing. "Of course, if I did, you'd probably kill me and become a drifter yourself." I had considered it, but I had yet to learn how to navigate on the open ocean. It was one skill I had never learned on the atoll.

Without that I'd be dead. Plus things like languages, bargaining, all the little tricks of survival - I didn't know those. If I wanted to commit suicide, there were quicker ways.

He sighed. "If you don't start talking, I'll start singing." I stayed silent and he began to sing in a language I didn't know. He couldn't carry a tune if it had handles.

I'd heard worse. I stretched out and took a nap.

When I woke again there were storm-clouds brewing. I sighed and caught dinner while I could, and he secured the loose items on deck and stowed the sails.

I realised I still didn't know his name. I wouldn't ask.

"Get below," he told me. "I want you out of the way." I did so, made myself comfortable on his bed and settled in to do little besides try to avoid being pounded against the shelved walls of the tiny space and occasionally bailing the cabin out.

It seemed to go on forever. I was more scared of dying slowly from thirst than I was of having the boat sink; I couldn't drown in water.

It lasted all night, but it wasn't bad, merely long. Storm season hadn't really started. We came through it intact, dry and with far more water than we had started with. He looked terrible.

I let him sleep and watched the slack sails; we were moving fairly fast. I caught breakfast, ate and went to sleep in the shade, so I wouldn't burn.

I woke again as the sun was setting. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look beautiful while you sleep?" he asked me mildly.

"No," I said.  
"It's true."

"Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?"

"You are." He trailed a hand along my cheekbone. "Sure you're not interested?"

I looked over his shoulder; smiled. I reached up, grabbed his shirt and hauled him into the water with me.

We sank into the blue, and I felt at home. I grinned at him and hauled him deeper. And deeper. And deeper, towing him by one squirming foot. He was staring at me. When I couldn't hold him anymore, I let him go. I saw his feet disappear as he got back on the boat. I stayed down until I had counted to a hundred.

I surfaced a distance from the boat, hovering lazily in the water. He stared at me, dripping.

"If you hurt me," I said, "I'll do that again. Only I won't let go. I swear on everything I love I will kill you if you hurt me."

"You've made your point," he said. "Now come back on board."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it's a long swim to the nearest place to stop."

Iswum over and hauled myself up gracelessly. I'm only graceful underwater."And that's the only reason I don't try."

He shuddered. "Point taken." He went and sat on the other side of the boat and watched the direction of the sun.

It was a long, quiet, lonely four days.


	3. Arrival

**Chapter 3: Arrival**

The seventh day he was nervous, tacking back and forth and watching the horizon. I knew what he was looking for; his home. I sat quietly by the hold, sipping a cup of water and not doing much.

"There," he finally pointed. "We'll be there soon." He seemed to vibrate with eagerness.

I didn't. It was even smaller than my home atoll, had very little in the way of weaponry or defences I could see - it was several small boats tied in a half-circle and one long one. I could see three people in a row-boat fishing, two in the water scraping a hull and one standing up and waving furiously at us.

"How many people?" I asked quietly.

"Eight, unless Micah has had her baby early. We make ten." Not good. I'd have felt more comfortable with a hundred.

The boat pulled up aside the small boats, and a line was secured. "Hola, Travis!" a wiry old man with a few wisps of hair greeted him. "Who's this?"

"New one," he said. "Thought she'd do. Swims like she's half-fish."

"What's your name?" he asked me.

"What's yours?"

"Frank. I'm in charge around here." He didn't seem cruel, but appearances could be deceptive.

"Kayla."

"Kayla. Pretty name. Where'd you get her?"

"Atoll about six days from here. Her family couldn't wait to get rid of her. She's better off shut of them. I don't plan to go back there." He tossed some boxes over to a boy several years younger than me. "Stack those in the back, will you?"

"Sure thing," the youngster called back. "Bring back anything useful?"

"Some," he allowed. "Wasn't the best of trips."

"Smokers?"

"Oddly enough, no. Haven't seen or heard much of them for a while. No, just not much to trade for."

"Happens. Come on board. You too, little lady."

"Bring your gear," Travis - odd name - added. "You can berth over there. There should be space."

"Still is," Frank allowed. "It's the food that worries me."

"Not the water?"

"We got the still working again. Every sunny day, we get enough to drink for all of us." A solar-powered still. Very nice. "But the plants…" he sighed.

"Our wealth has two sources," the boy explained to me. "Micah, who makes lovely jewellery, and our plants. But some of them are dying."

"We've re-used the dirt so often it's nearly useless," someone muttered.

"Dirt doesn't get used up," Travis said.

"Add fish," I said. They all looked at me. "Put fish in under the roots. Renews the soil, don't ask me why. Catch fish blood in a jug, pour a little on as well as water. It's worked before. You got to watch the salt content, though. Make it the least salty fish you can find."

"If it works, you just earned your place," Frank said. "Go sort yourself out. Don't worry about anyone stealing anything. Around here the punishment for stealing is to be taken away until you can only just see this place, then be pitched off the boat and left to swim back." Wouldn't be too hard for me, but it would be for some, especially at night. "We don't put up with that sort of thing."

"I've heard that before." I moved slowly, looking around. A very pregnant lady with a flat nose, slanted eyes and dark hair must be Micah. A flaxen-haired pair, man and woman, were working a still, adding seawater and carefully bottling fresh water.

"That's Toby and Tyla," Frank told me. "Twins, great with machinery, tools, anything. My nephew and niece. Micah is Toby's wife. Tyla is Greta's mother, and Jason's, here." He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Mitchell and Dean are escaped slaves, you'll meet them later. They've got some work to do on the hulls."

"Problem?"

"This boat has a good deep draw. They can't stay down long enough to get much done."

"Kayla can hold her breath like no one I've seen," Travis said as I unpacked onto my one shelf. "Send her down to lend a hand."

"She's good?"

"Nearly drowned me once."

"Eh?"

"She was trying to make a point." He lowered his voice, but I still heard him. "I don't think she really trusts anyone except herself. I doubt anyone's ever bothered to really care about her."

"You sound like you're smitten."

I swear, I could hear the blush. "She's going to be a challenge."

"You like tough women."

"They're never boring. But she's not going to settle easily."

"Shy?"

"Not really. She just blocks you out. Sits, listens, watches, learns, just doesn't talk or move. Goes unreachable. It's hard to get around." I finished, eying my pallet dubiously, and decided to wrap my book in a bit of tarp just to be safe.

I came back out to meet Mitchell and Dean, two dripping lengths of whipcord and weariness. "Hi," Dean said, eying me up and down. He knew exactly how good-looking he was. "Nice to meet you."

I nodded silently. "I'm Mitchell," he said, his voice squeaking a little. "Excuse me, I need to have a drink. I'm that parched." I nodded again.'

"Lunch in half an hour," someone called. "Oh, hi, I'm Greta." She came up to my waist. "Can you cook? I could use a hand." I followed her silently, noting Dean watching my backside intently. I decided I needed a new dress, one a little less revealing.

"Ignore him," Greta said. "He goes after anything with breasts."

"Oh, joy."

"So you do know how to talk. Can you do anything with these?" She handed me a string of fish. I set to work.

Meals were evidently communal, eaten squeezed in around a rough table under an awning on the big ship. Micah got the sole true chair as she was too big to fit on the benches. I listened instead of talking.

Travis discussed his trip, the various atolls, his trading hauls, the weather. Micah talked about sore feet and her hopes for a healthy kid. Everyone talked about work - fishing, making water, tending the plants, curing fish leather, making those delicate bone necklaces, all the hundred and one little tasks needed to keep an atoll working. Even an atoll that size.

There was no place for me in such a close-knit community except as a worker and bed-warmer.

I was little better off than before.

That afternoon, I helped finish the boat-scraping. I remember how surprised Dean looked when I took one breath for every three of his, and I only did that to appear normal. If I had just stayed down, I could have finished far faster, but I was glad of the respite; my hands were getting sore.

"Nice work," Mitchell said, giving me a hand out of the water before dinner. With winter coming, the days were shorter.

I wasn't looking forward to true storm season. This atoll would offer little shelter, and a lot of being tossed around. One thing had changed; Travis' boat had been added to the atoll, giving a little extra space. After dinner everyone gathered for games - dice, knucklebones, a few other things. I went to lie down and have a sleep. All my life I'd been going to bed late and getting up early. After six days of sleeping whenever I wanted, I was feeling better - but it had also meant that after six days of doing nothing, one afternoon of work was far more tiring than it should have been.

"Aren't you going to join them?" Greta asked me.

"No," I said. "I'm going to sleep."


	4. Amateurs

**Chapter 4: Amateurs**

I woke at dawn and felt like a swim; Frank was up already, and shrugged when I told him. "Breakfast isn't for a little while. Don't get chilled." I seldom did; there was something I wanted to try.

I dropped into the water, staying in sight for a few minutes so he'd stop watching me, then went under. I kept going, pausing every fifty yards or so that I descended.

I found the bottom.

I'd only been deep once before. At my home atoll it had been deeper, dark even at noon; the water soaked up the sunlight like thick cloth. Once an eccentric trader somehow learned about me and told me he'd give me a flare to use if I would go down and look around, maybe bring something back from the bottom. I went, and brought up a flask of dirt, a couple of books, some jewellery including my necklace. I kept a book and some jewellery. My family sold my half of the dirt; I never saw a scrap.

I'd also learned about the dangers of going up and down too fast. I nearly died, and spent a long time feeling terrible.

Here it was closer to the surface; it was dim, but I could just see. At noon, I could stay down for hours exploring. I could see what had to be buildings, or parts of them. Not big ones, not like I'd seen the other time; these were smaller, less left of them; less metal. I rubbed the material. Wood. That incredibly rare and valuable stuff. Maybe if I could get a boat I'd stand a chance as a trader; I could haul this stuff up and sell it. The fish didn't need it.

I noticed a sign over the entrance; Newman's Delicatessen. The paint was still just legible.

What was a delicatessen? I'd never heard the word. Was Newman a place, a person, something else altogether? Did it mean the building was only for young men, perhaps a place to stay?

I went inside, carefully. It was dark, and there were probably animals living in there. I couldn't figure out what half the stuff was for.

On the ground outside, I found a huge piece of glass, not even cracked - worth a fortune if I could bring it up. And dirt. Lots and lots of dirt.

I wished I could show other people this. This place had once been above water. The childish story of Dry Land was under our feet, and we'd never known.  
What had gone wrong? I wanted to know.

I filled a small leather pouch with dirt and ascended in a thoughtful mood. I was actually happy. I might not fit in on the new atoll, I might be a slave, I might have no friends - but I could see and do things they would never be able to. I'd finally found a real use for being so strange.

No one seemed to notice that I'd been gone. We had our breakfast and went to work. The fish leather needed working into clothing, but I'm hopeless with a needle. I was quickly told to help with the still.

"Nice piece," I said.

"It lets us survive in summer," I was told brusquely. While we talked my dirt was drying in a corner; I snuck it into one of the prized plant pots when no one was looking. Lemon. Tomato. Beans. A few others. Their plants were their wealth, not their jewellery.

It was going to be a long day.

The next day followed the same pattern, and the four after that; we worked, they played, they talked. I hid how well I could swim and missed my home, where I always, always worked the fishing lines, staying in the water for hours on end until I shrivelled like a prune.

I missed that.

Finally Frank called me over. "There's something I want you to do for me," he said.

I listened. "Take this." A flat box full of sand was thrust at me. "Greta, Travis and Jason don't read and they should learn. Start teaching them. Today."

I sighed. "Where are they?"

"Over there, at the table. Teach them."

I sat down next to them. They looked at me expectantly. "You ever had lessons before?"

"No," they all said.

"Then we start with the alphabet." I pulled the sand over. "Twenty-six letters, each written two ways. The first is A."

I was part-way through the alphabet, writing out words you could make from the letters they knew, when someone whistled."

"Light on the horizon," he called. It was sun-set.

I looked. "There?"

"Yeah." Frank handed me his telescope. "Opinion?"

"Big ship, lots of people. Not a trader, not enough room for cargo and equipment. Sails. So slavers, most likely. And it's dark of the moon; they're probably planning to come in at night. They'll have electric lights. We don't. We're easy meat."

"Figure thirty, thirty-five."

"Twenty-five, I'd have said," Mitchell said. "Any chance we can capture the boat?"

"Maybe," I said. "I swim out there. I know how to cripple electric lights. Everyone gets off the atoll, in the water. Some of them get off the ship to board, we take them then. The only edge they have is numbers and lights. We whittle that down, split them up, we have a chance, and I can fix the lights."

Looks were exchanged. "It's a long way out there. You'll freeze."

"I've swum far further at night. They won't see me coming."

"Go," Travis said. "No. Take this." He handed me a knife. "I noticed yours is old and dull."

"You got a boat-hook? I can use one better. And some rope."

"And it doubles as a climbing tool."

"Exactly." I took the proffered weapons and hit the water hard. "I'll be back." I had nowhere else to go.

It was a long cold swim out there; I stayed under the water, coming up for less than two seconds at a time, and not swimming a straight line. I had to time this exactly right. I didn't want to come up in front of them; I wanted to come up under their stern and catch on. I'd only get one chance. I hung underwater, waiting.

They came in over me; I kicked up hard at the dim shape in the water, barely more than an outline. I grabbed, slipped, grabbed again, and was along for the ride.

Next task, get up the side. No nice neat edge low to the water like Travis' boat; no, this one had a proper hull. That made it harder; I had to be dead silent, never let go, and not be seen or smelled.

Good thing it was an old, rusted metal boat; it had hand-holds. I looked for the lights. Spot-lights, designed to shine right at the enemy; they can't see anything, you see them clear as day. Running off pedals, crewed by either slaves or low-ranked slavers, I couldn't tell. They were running dark. The biggest light was at the back, a stretched cable running to it. One man near it. I edged around, desperately scared of noise. At one point I think the boat-hook scraped the hull, but no one seemed to notice. I had only a few minutes left; I could just make out the outline. The light was fading fast. Starlight is pretty, but you can't see by it.

I braced my feet carefully, surged up and in my first ever display of absolutely perfect timing, slit the slaver's throat and pulled him back over the rail almost silently. Everyone was facing forward, for a wonder. I held onto his shirt collar as he fell, slowing him enough that the splash was hidden under the noise of lots of men checking their weapons. Some guns, mostly spears and clubs. Another man wandered over, leaning against the rear rail and picking his teeth; he stank as if he hadn't bathed in a month. I was shaking and covered in blood - why had no one noticed the spray? I hated it. I had to fight. Better to live on the atoll than as a slave. I stuck the boat-hook around his neck and yanked. There was a crack. I hauled him over the side and dropped him.

Four seconds work and the cable would not work. There wasn't enough length to patch it. I looked at the other lights, all up the mast. With three men to man them. I had to come up with something else. I paused. The pedalling made them work - but the charge to start it all came from a battery. I took the wire section I had cut out and held it carefully, edged around to the deck housing. These men were either grossly overconfident or inexperienced; they weren't watching their boat, their rear, their slaves, their own men, just the atoll. Anticipation of an easy kill?

I put the wire across the terminals of the battery and very carefully secured it, horribly aware that I was left bending over something with my back to everyone and I was not invisible. Being helpless and a target is not my idea of fun.

I couldn't believe no one spotted me. I eased over the side and hung on. I looked up. "Thank you," I whispered, not really sure to whom I was speaking but meaning it with every bone in my body, and disappeared under the water, hanging on like a barnacle myself.

The fight was short, nasty and brutal; I stayed in the water and dealt with the ones who tried to get away, or swim around to attack from an unexpected place. Maybe seven in all. I hoped there were no sharks around.

I didn't see much of the rest. The oh-so-flirtatious Dean floated past at one point; I noticed Travis, Toby and Greta were all hurt. Micah had been the only one to not fight; they wouldn't let her.

It also turned out Frank was a dead shot with a rifle; he picked off eight before they got close. Tyla killed two with a frying pan. Mitchell almost went beserk - some men do that in a fight. Jason covered his back, or he could have died. "This was an amateur lot," Frank pronounced, dropping a spear he had been examining. "Maybe a group who mutinied or were expelled. Not nearly enough guns for a proper effort to loot us. We won't be so lucky next time." He looked at the dead.

"What shall we do with them?" I asked. "We can't recycle them."

"No. We'll take everything we can use and dump the bodies where the currents will wash them away from this place."

"Even Dean?" Mitchell asked softly. "He was my friend."

"Even Dean," Frank said just as softly. "Nice work, everyone. Kayla, do you know any healing?"

"No more than everyone does."

"You got a strong stomach?"

"Fairly; why?"

"I want you and Travis to do something fairly disgusting."


	5. A few more drops of salty water

**Chapter 5: A few more drops of salty water**

Morning came far too early; we'd all been up half the night. Micah was the only one who had gotten much rest; that far into a pregnancy, her body didn't ask if she needed to stay awake. It made her sleep. I never wanted to be pregnant, to be slow and vulnerably and heavy.

Travis was gone; he'd taken the bodies and let his boat drift on the currents, so he could dump them - after we'd bled them out. Water was always an issue on the atoll - any atoll. Drinking water. The one still plus rainwater had to supply not only nine people, but all the plants as well. If we watered the plants with blood, it wouldn't hurt them, and we'd have water to spare for us, because we weren't watering the plants. I doubted it would make much difference to the taste when we harvested. Greta had already said she wouldn't eat any of it. She'd also thrown up several times.

I made a big breakfast for everyone - they'd need it. It was starting to rain; Tyla and I, who had both come through more or less unscathed, put up the catching cloths and collection barrels. The wind was picking up.

"Can you steer that ship into the atoll?" she asked me. "I can hook it up, but..."

"Yeah. I think so." I'd watched Travis, and this boat had almost the same set-up. It was bigger, with more sails, but the same steering system. I gently moved it forward on its mooring line, nudging it into position as Tyla loosened the lines joining the smaller one-man boats at the round end of the atoll.  
In five minutes of work we added nearly half the length of the atoll again.

"We'd better do something about the hull," I remarked. "It can't have that much life left in it."

"I agree," she said. "I'll talk to my brother; maybe he'll have some ideas. For now, let's see what our haul is." We'd already handed out spare clothes, boots - I had never owned a pair before, and they chafed - metal tools, knives, weapons. We found several stills below-decks, and water; food, an obviously much-prized lime bush - we didn't have any, and Tyla nearly had raptures - and all sorts of other things. Bandages. Dice. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Several sets of binoculars. It was all eagerly appropriated. I kept a set of crayons.

Grim work. I kept thinking about the look on someone's face when they die. Surprise and fear and anger all rolled up together, sometimes with acceptance or sadness or relief. I wondered what I'd feel when I died. How I'd look. Who'd care.

I had the feeling the faces of the men I killed would haunt me for a long time. Even more so for the ones I killed underwater, when they were just outlines without names or faces or anything else to know them by.

I hadn't wanted to grow up to be a whore, but I didn't think being a killer was any better. At least whoring paid.

When we were done, I took a nap. Travis was back when I woke up.

"Kayla, can we talk?" He asked as he came in to where I was hauling salt water into a barrel to be distilled.

"I'm kind of busy." Those buckets were heavy.

"Fine. You just listen. I know what I saw last night. You stayed under water for more than seven minutes at a time. I was counting. Now, I've known a few - a very few - people who could do that, once, then spend lots of time recovering. I've known no one who can do that while swimming. And I've never met anyone who can do that multiple times, swimming, and come out of it only a bit more tired than when they started." My hands shook just a little on the bucket.

"I swim well," I said.

"No. You don't."

"Let go of my arm." The grip he'd taken at some point was going to bruise.

"You swim. You swim like someone who's had a lot of practice and no talent. But you hold your breath so well most people don't notice."

"I said let go of my arm." He didn't. Tyla noticed.

"Travis," she said firmly, "let her go."

"No."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I want some answers."

"I want her to be able to work in the morning, not have an arm useless from the elbow on down."

He looked as if he hadn't realised how much he was hurting me and let go. I smiled grimly at him and brought a knee up hard.

He folded over with a whistling gasp and staggered back, falling on his rump and curling into a ball.

"That was unnecessary," he said hoarsely. Tyla was torn between concern and approval.

"You'd better finish filling that," she said. "How can you hold your breath for so long?"

"I just can."

"That's crap."

"Believe whatever you like." In a twisted way she was right. I hoped like hell my hair was covering my ears.

I was wrong. Travis got up and brushed a bit of it aside, breath hot on my ear. I tried to move aside, but I was trapped between a wall, a barrel and him. I didn't want him near me.

"This explains a lot," he said softly, almost viciously.

"What does?" I tried to pull his arm away and make him let go of my hair but he wouldn't budge. I hated being female.

"Oh," she said. "I've never seen that before."

"Neither have I. A human with gills. Very - unusual."

I could feel the tears coming. "Oh, go ahead and say it," I snapped. "There's nothing you can say I haven't already heard."

Both of them flinched back. I caught a glimpse of the pity mixed with revulsion on their faces, and I didn't want to see it. I ran.

God help me, I ran.

I hit the water hard, too distracted to flatten myself out properly for a dive. Someone yelled something, but I went down and kept going.

I wished I could stay down forever more than anything. I wished I could live on salt water the way fish do, and never come up into the sunlight again.  
Sure, sharks and other fish with teeth could hurt, but humans could hurt worse. Far, far worse. Words and looks can wound more than losing a limb.

I'd have traded both arms and legs to be treated like everyone else.

I could never have that. I had the water, the ocean, like no other human being - but in return, I could never be like another human being. I'd always, always be alone. Hated. Despised. Feared.

I cried. No one would ever know it. What's a few more drops of salty water in an ocean that covers a world?


	6. Dragged back by the hair

**Chapter 6: Dragged back by the hair**

I slept in the water, something I'd never done without a line so I didn't drift away. I woke desperate for a drink of fresh water and more than a little surprised to still be alive. I came up to look around and had no idea where I was.

The atoll was nowhere in sight.

I thought about following the currents back, and decided not to bother. I'd be swimming into a current the whole way, even if I could make it. Another few hours, and I'd be too weak to get anywhere. I decided to just lie there under the clouds and give it a couple of days. Three days without water, and you're dead.

I had water. An ocean of water. It might as well have been poison. I smiled a little at the irony and slipped back under. I had no idea what would happen to me after I died, but it was hard to see how it would be worse. Maybe I'd be born again, born normal. Maybe I'd go to heaven. Maybe I was going to hell - but I'd probably just go there anyway, so what's a few decades one way or the other?

I sank deeper. Below me was humanity's old home, which was destroyed; above me, a decaying world we lived in now. They lived in now. In my slightly dehydrated and very depressed state, the irony seemed fitting. I decided this was as good a place as any to die.

Sometime after it became dark again I fell asleep. I have a few disjointed memories of thirst and cold, but nothing else.

When I woke again, I was on Travis' boat, looking up at the sails. I knew it well enough to be sure.

It had to be Hell. Nothing else could be so cruel.

"Hey." He eclipsed the sun, seating himself on the edge of the boat calmly, and offered me a cup of water. My throat burned; I didn't reach for it. I rolled over and turned my back on him.

That was when I realised my wrists were tied. Descending into cold fury, I looked at the knot. I could undo it with my teeth, but it would take a long time; I couldn't undo it with my hands. The rope would also be next to impossible to cut. The other end was secured to the mast, but it didn't matter; I couldn't swim with my wrists tied.

"You kept trying to escape," he said gently. "Given you'd have drifted away and died, I tried to prevent that."

I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to hear him. I didn't want to be alive. I knew it was childish, but I stayed silent.

"You had us all very worried," he went on. "Tyla was in a state; she was sure you'd die. You just went under and never came up. Frank thought you were hiding until you didn't show up for dinner." I kept looking resolutely at the knot. Was there a quicker way to get it undone? "It took us a lot of searching to find you. I thought we'd lose you for sure."

Why did he care?

He reached out and flicked a curl of hair back from my face. "Now I know why you always wore your hair down." Silence. "They took it pretty well." Now I had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. "I think Micah and Greta were a bit wierded out. Toby went all religious on us about abominations in the eye of God, but Mitchell started yelling at him about how God made us all the way we are for a reason and shouldn't he give you a chance since you did so much in the battle."

I still didn't say anything. He kept fiddling with that one lock of hair. "Frank wants to talk to you. Badly. But I have no idea what he's thinking." Even more silence. "Well, we're heading back. I'll keep talking until you open your mouth and tell me to shut up."

I huddled down. This was going to be a long trip, but given what was waiting, the longer the better. He had to sleep some time.


	7. Cold welcome

**Chapter 7: Cold welcome**

I sat with my back to the mast, legs stretched out in front of me, carefully examining the rope. He wouldn't untie me even to eat, and so I didn't eat. He wouldn't untie me to take a piss, so I didn't. Not a real hardship. I was slowly drying off after a nasty squall; he was snoring a few feet away. I sunk my teeth into the strand and yanked; after a lot of yanks, sore teeth and a horrible taste in my mouth, I had managed nothing.

"It won't come loose, you know," Travis said lazily from his perch. I turned and glared; his snoring had been a sham. "I know my knots." I looked away as his eyes trailed lazily down my body. I'd seen that look before, and it always meant trouble.

He leaned forward, edging around until we were practically nose to nose and he was squatting over my legs. "You know, you'd be really pretty if you just stopped looking so hateful."

I had reason to be hateful. I stared, willing him to be the first to blink.

He was, but he didn't move away; instead, he ran his hands lightly along my upper arms. You can't flinch two ways at once, but I tried.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly, pupils dilated, before he leaned in and tried to kiss me. I jerked my head sideways and tried to kick him, getting nowhere. I just couldn't get enough leverage to do anything. I settled for spitting at him.

It missed. Like lightning he was there, pushing my head back against the mast, trying to get me to open my mouth again with his tongue. I clamped my lips and teeth shut, prepared to bite on his tongue if that didn't work, but he just pulled away a fraction.

"I like a challenge," he whispered as he got up. Was that all I was to him - a challenge? Did he make a game of wooing girls and dumping them? I did not need that. As soon as he was out of sight I turned my attention back to the rope. I had less than half a day before we were back at the atoll; I had to figure it out fast.

I didn't.

Travis hauled me off his boat like a sack of fish. I didn't intend to make it any easier for him. He dumped me on the ground as gently as it is possible to dump someone of my size and weight who's not helping you at all.

I looked around at their faces. Accusation. Fear. Distaste. Contempt. Revulsion. Pity. All things I'd seen before. I'd thought I had nothing left to lose, that they couldn't hurt me anymore. I was wrong.

I sat up and tried to get to my feet, but Travis grabbed my shoulder. "Leave her alone," he said to them. "I mean it." I sat there while they eventually went back to work. The last to go was the hugely swollen Micah. I remember Greta asked me something. "Is it fun?"

I looked away. "Guess not," she said finally and left.

Finally it was just me and Travis. He was still holding onto my shoulder.

"You really are determined to be alone, aren't you?" he asked me as he came around to look me in the eye.

I spoke for the first time in days. "It hurts less that way." He looked guilty, glancing once quickly at the floor before meeting my eyes. I tried to convey coldness, disdain, to get my eyes to show I didn't need people like him.

I don't think it worked.

He trailed a hand gently over my face. I turned away. I didn't want him to know how badly I missed having someone who would touch me. I certainly didn't want him to know what my body was doing. "How old are you, Kayla?" he asked gently.

"Maybe eighteen."

"How did you get so old and never have a friend?"

"I had a friend. Once. He died."

"I'm sorry." The sympathy disgusted me suddenly, and I jerked away. "Just leave me alone."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm worried about you."

"Don't bother."

"Were you trying to kill yourself when you swam away?"

"Yes," I said mildly. "I was rather looking forward to it, actually."

"I won't let that happen."

"You can't watch me all the time."

"How about if I give you something to live for?"

"I never knew you went in for pointless cruelty," I said. He jerked back as if I'd slapped him.

I have no idea how long we sat there staring at each other. I was quite content to sit there silently, waiting for him to give up and go away, and he wasn't going to give up that easily. Finally Jason came to tell us it was time to eat. Travis picked me up with the gentleness of a parent handling a newborn and lead me to the table. I didn't eat.

That evening I was sitting on my bed, eying the stars. Greta came in to see me.

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Being…" she hunted for a word.

"Being a freak?"

"I didn't mean that."

"It's the worst thing in the world," I turned away from her and tried not to cry. "Go away."

"What's it like to breathe water?"

"Over-rated. Go away."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to know."

"Does something in the air here breathe stubborn stupidity."

"Travis likes you, you know." I kept staring at the wall. "It's not just that he likes a challenge. He likes to be needed as well. Most women he chases just aren't interested. You're a different sort of challenge, and he's not going to give up."

"I don't need a pity fuck."

"It wouldn't be that. I'm more than a bit jealous. Travis is cute."

"He's more dangerous than a shark. He just hides it better."

"He'd be flattered to know you think that."

"Tell him if you want to. I don't care."

"You do care. Just because your family treated you like shit doesn't mean we will. But you won't see it that way. You're too convinced we're all heartless buggers."

"Oh, so there's not the slightest bit of difference between us. I'm just your girl next door."

"You don't need to be so sarcastic. You're not like us. That doesn't mean you're not welcome. We'd probably be dead without you, or at least in a lot of trouble."

"Tell that to Toby."

"He isn't an idiot. He's just religious."

"Maybe they're the same thing. Did you ever think of that? Have you ever seen God? Talked to Him? Asked Him why the world is the way it is?"

"No. No one has. You've got to believe."

"I believe what I see. And all I've seen is that you guys start looking at me like I'm a freak the moment you found out I was one, and you won't just get rid of me while I'm useful. It's exactly the same as it was back on the other atoll. I'm only good for the work I can do and the rest of the time I'm the icky muto no one wants to be friends with. Nothing ever changes." I curled up into a ball and pulled the blanket over me. "You should go to bed. We all have to get up in the morning."

She sighed and got into her pallet. "You're not so special, you know," she said. "It's just a small thing. And if the others would think, they'd see it too. It's no stranger than Travis having black skin."

"There are plenty of people with dark skin. I've heard about them. I've never heard of anyone with gills. No one but me."

"And maybe if you had kids there'd be more."

"I'd be condemning them to be treated like I have been. That's pure cruelty."

She sighed again. "I can see Travis is going to have his work cut out for him."


	8. Dry Land

**Chapter 8: Dry Land**

Things looked no better by the bleak light of morning.

Frank gave me a cold nod when I sat down at the table. Micah seemed quite happy to talk; Jason and Greta kept asking me what it was like. Mitchell wouldn't even look at me. Tyla and Toby talked softly with Micah about the plans for the new baby. Travis wasn't there. "He's in bed," Greta said. She had caught my glance at the empty space. "Not feeling well. He was throwing up last night."

"Why?" Jason asked. His sister shrugged. "Maybe he ate some bad fish. How do I know?"

I looked away. He hadn't been too careful about eating on the boat. He'd spent too much time watching me. Just watching.

"I need your help with the hull," Toby told me. "We'll get to work after breakfast." I wasn't very hungry.

The water helped. My element. Even underwater scraping barnacles was better than being up above the water with other people. We were checking every boat in the atoll before we worked on the new one with the incredibly rickety sides.

That one would be a job and a half, and test even our ingenuity, I could just tell.

We were done by sunset. I had hoped to take another trip to the ocean floor, but it didn't happen. There was no time. The next day it was raining; we fished.

"How far down can you go?" Greta asked me while we pulled in the nets.

"I don't know," I said.

"You don't know?"

"Go down too far, it gets dark."

"Oh. Is it fun?"

"Why are you talking to me?"

"I'm curious. I don't swim very well." I let her sigh and mutter rude words over the nets. "Don't you want friends?"

"Everyone I've ever thought of as a friend is either dead or turned against me."

"I won't."

"That's what the others said as well."

"Don't you trust anyone?"

"I trust me."

"You can tell me what it's like."

"It's cold. And it's dark. Sometimes there are fish."

"That's like saying the sky is blue."

"It's grey right now," I pointed out. "And at night it's black."

"You know, you have a real talent for being a bitch."

"Thank you. I've had years of practice."

"That's not answering the question," Jason slid down between us, and I jumped. I hadn't heard him coming. "What's it like underwater?"

"Wet," I said. Twin groans met that statement.

"Having fun?" Travis looked much the worse for wear.

"I'm fine," I said bluntly. I felt a little guilty.

"That's not what I asked."

"She's a real piece of work," Jason said. "You want to try to talk to her for a bit?"

"Sure. You two can catch up with us later."

"Huh?"

"Lessons, remember?" He nudged me. "We're only half-way through the alphabet."

"Oh. Right." I got up. "I need to find that sand square."

He caught me gently by my elbow. "You don't need to be so cold," he said. "Why be lonely if you don't have to?"

"It saves pain down the line," I said.

"You can't grasp that we really don't want to hurt you, can you?"

"Haven't you ever heard the word 'freak'?" I asked cynically.

"Yes. Although I still don't know how to spell it."

I managed a little smile.

"Knew I could do it." He pulled me up. "Now why are you so reluctant to talk about what's underwater?"

I looked away. "I went down there once before. I was called a liar, even with proof."

"Proof?"

I sighed. "Go down far enough and you find - well, they weren't atolls. There must have been thousands, tens of thousands of people living there. Old buildings and furniture and all sorts of things. I brought back that book of mine, and some jewellery, and dirt… But even with that lots of people didn't want to believe."

"The myth of Dry Land," his face went light. I mean by that, he paled.

"Yeah," I said. "It's down below us."

"How long have you known?"

"When I was fifteen a trader gave me a flare. Until then I'd never been that far down, because it got too dark. Then I knew."

"And here?"

"It's shallower here."

"But you can get down there."

I looked down and nodded. "Have you any idea how useful that could be?" he asked. "No, I can see you don't - Kayla, one of the problems with atolls is that there's only so much material to build them out of and it keeps getting whittled down by rust and stuff that sinks and raiders and lost masts… if you could bring stuff up from the sea-bed, stuff we could build out of, we could build an atoll as big as we like."

I said nothing. I didn't want to say anything. The thought had occurred to me.

I guess I just didn't want a place where I was only tolerated for my skills. I'd had that before and hated it.

He sighed and hugged me; I stood, stiff and awkward, unsure how to get him to stop. "Think about it," he advised, cupping my cheek in his hand, then moving away.

I noticed Greta looking at us wistfully. "What?" I asked her.


	9. Hauls and spillages

**Chapter 9: Hauls and spillages**

Somehow, Travis talked me into it. He talked me into going back down. That time I took some ropes. Ropes to haul stuff up by. No, I know how he talked me into it. He nagged. And nagged. And then he nagged some more. It took him five days to convince me to do it even once, and the others kept just looking at me like I was betraying them. I had to get away. I wanted to run and hide.

I sunk down into the water with eight faces watching me. It was worse than ever before; even on my home atoll I hadn't felt so horribly isolated. There'd been people willing to talk to me.

I sank down into the water and wished it would swallow me up, but even if I slipped the rope and swam away, sooner or later I'd fall asleep and float to the surface and Travis would find me. He'd done it before.

I cursed him silently, the water leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

I sank down. It was near noon, and as light as it was going to get, but I still had trouble making things out. I wasn't where I had been before; this was a different bit. Coral grew over the ground. I swum along, looking for a good spot to swipe things from.

An upthrust growth - a dwelling, I could see the door. It had to be big enough for ten or fifteen people.

I unhooked one of the lines from my belt, tied it around the door securely, and yanked on it. The door inched up and away. A wooden door, slightly warped. Not much of a haul.

I went inside, wary of animals. Even an octopus would be a nasty problem.

A table. Dishes. Curtains at the windows, even. Things I didn't understand and couldn't name, but even I could recognise a kitchen.

I gathered a bundle of things and wrapped them in the cloth, hoping it would hold. That bundle went up as well. There were other things - papers, cupboard doors, containers. Further in it was getting dark, but I could see soft chairs and a big table and electronics that would be useless. I didn't know where to begin; I only had five more lines; six, if I swam up on my own instead of letting them pull me up.

I threw in the paper - we could always trade it - and more dishes and containers, then two chairs tied back-to-back, then a load of cutlery I found, some kitchen knives miraculously free of rust… I kept bundling things up until I ran out of things to bundle, then I tied the last line around two more chairs - I couldn't get the table through the door - and tugged on it, following the odd shape up to the sunlight. When I surfaced, it was almost blinding.

After a moment I was back at the atoll and hauling myself out of the water. Only Travis noticed, offering me a hand up, which I ignored; everyone else was busy sighing over the new finds.

"Well?" I asked him. "Happy now?"

"No. You look miserable."

"I didn't ask how I looked, I asked if you were happy."

"Kayla, I'm not happy because you look miserable."

"I don't need you to care."

"Well, I don't need you to keep breathing. That doesn't mean I'd be happy if you stopped."

"I do when I'm underwater."

"Alright, so maybe that wasn't the greatest analogy." He wouldn't let me get away. "Kayla, just because you're different doesn't mean nobody cares about you."

I looked pointedly at the seven bodies crowding around their new furniture and dinnerware.

"I'm here," he reminded me.

"How much of that is because you like women who are a challenge?" I asked.

"Only a little," he said. "You'd be a lot more attractive if you did something about your hair."

"It covers my ears."

"Everyone here knows. You don't have to hide, you can look pretty."

"I wouldn't look pretty."

"Yes. You would. Come on, I'll show you." I was towed like a raft, unable to steer my own course. The alternative was to fall over and be dragged. Travis all but shoved me into a chair and set to work with comb and string and brush. It hurt. A lot.

He wouldn't even let me look in a mirror until he was finished, and when he did I could barely believe my eyes.

Two thick braids on either side of my head joined at the back and held the main mop back off my eyes - it would even work underwater. The little skerricks of hair in front of my ears were braided into far thinner ones to hang down beside my face, altering the shape to look prettier. As he'd said. My hair was still thick and dark and unruly, but it seemed quiescent, like a sleeping shark.

"Ah, stay still," he told me and was back in short order with some of Micah's beadwork. An elegant bracelet for each wrist, a string of small ones to be woven into the braid at the back and ones to end the braids by my face. Then he put the dingy mirror back in front of my face.

"Now," he said, gently spinning me around to look at him, "who says you're not pretty?"

I wouldn't look at him. My fingers itched to tear out those decorations, to clip my hair so close to the skull I'd be bleeding. Being pretty would only make things worse. Better to be ugly, to be no threat.

I heard a gasp behind me. I turned; Jason was staring, open-mouthed, then he blushed furiously and ducked behind a mast.

"I think he's got a crush," Travis whispered, his breath ghosting over my skin.

"He's not the only one," Tyla teased. "He's just a little less obvious. Nice work on that stuff, Kayla. There's a few things I may be able to use in the still, and we can store more water for longer now?"

"Tyla," Travis said after taking a deep breath, "can I have a word?"

"Oh, sure, why? What's wrong?"

I was left standing there, bemused, baffled and a bit hurt. Greta grabbed my arm and hauled me over to the table. "Now," she said, "a door is a good start, but we need more."

"Well, you still have to haul it up," I said.

"Right. We need a windlass. And maybe some kind of holder, like a huge bucket."

"Some packing material," I said. "Those curtains might be tough, but most cloth isn't. I was lucky half the dishes didn't break."

"I'll think on it," she said, sitting up. "So. You. Jason. Travis. Spill."

"I'm not nauseous."

"What?"

"Oh. Spill as in talk. Where I grew up it meant vomit. I'm not sick or anything." She took one look at my face and cracked up. I was embarrassed, but I could see the funny side. Not enough to laugh, though.

"I've never heard that before," she said when she'd calmed down. "No. I meant I've seen the way Travis looks at you." She flushed. "I'm envious," she admitted.

"You can have him," I said and meant it. "Guys are nothing but trouble."

"Micah wouldn't agree," she said.

"She can't even stand up without using both hands and she'd say guys aren't trouble?"

Greta shook her head. "Guys are great."

"A piston can do what they do and you don't have to clean up afterwards."

"Oh, gross! You are warped!"

I managed a slight smile. I don't think anyone saw.


	10. A Sudden Wedding

**Chapter 10: A sudden wedding**

That evening was a difficult one for me; I couldn't sleep, and everyone seemed to want to talk to me but not have the courage to say anything. I settled myself in front of the drying sheets of paper and started trying to figure out what they were.

"Anything?" Travis asked, sitting next to me and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Recipes. I think. What is 'baking powder'? Or 'cocoa'? Or 'icing sugar'? Or 'Worcester sauce?' I've never heard of some of these ingredients. These all seem to be cookery books or hand-written stuff."

"What about this one?"

"I hadn't gotten to that one yet. I'm not sure what it's supposed to be."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to try to open it until the pages have dried a bit more. Otherwise I'll rip them."

He nodded. "You mind going down again tomorrow?"

"So long as it's not cloudy. I can't see well as it is. Can we get more ropes?"

"Maybe, but there's still the question of what we can pull up."

I nodded. "Fine. I'll go help shut down the still and head to bed."

"You need a hobby," he said. "I only ever see you working or sitting still."

"Like what? Polishing a knife collection?"

"Still stubborn." He shook his head. "See you in the morning. I'm beat."

"Beat?"

"Tired," Greta translated for me. "Tuckered out. Wiped. Lethargic. Wasted."

"I thought wasted meant drunk or drugged."

"Oh, that, too. It's like the difference between pissed and pissed off."

"Here we go," I sat down, kicking my boots off. "Ow."

"Problem?"

"Blisters. I'm not used to boots."

"You know something? He was right. You need a hobby."

"Oh, forget it." I rolled into my bed and was out like a light.

Morning came; it was raining heavily. We went to work storing all the water we could. It was also getting very windy with rough seas, which meant our atoll was more than a little wobbly. Micah looked terrible; I guess pregnancy wasn't helping her balance.

It was a lousy day outside, but Travis pulled me inside and we sat around keeping warm and dry. I remember I was working through the cookery books, and he kept looking over my shoulder and driving me nuts asking what the words meant.

Then he stopped asking. After a bit I realised he had fallen asleep, sagging back in the corner behind me on the bench and head handing down. I edged away a little to give him room and went back to reading.

"He must like you," Greta said. "I've known him for most of my life. He's never just fallen asleep like that around someone he didn't like and trust before."

"How'd you meet him?" I didn't want to think too hard about that part.

"Me and Jason were living on a small atoll, just one big family. Smokers came. Our family told us to hide, and we stayed behind a partition below the deck. We were just kids. He came by a few days later and found us there. He took us to Frank, on the next stop on his route, and left us there; checked up on us when he came back that way. When he started building this place, we wanted to come."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know. Ten, twelve - I could figure it out. Jason's a few years older."

"English isn't your first language, is it?"

"No. Our family spoke Portuguese. How did you know?"

"Your accent is a bit off."

"Off?"

"Strange. How'd you get a name like Greta?"

"Our mother spoke German."

"Oh." I turned a page. "Don't suppose you know what pepper is, do you?"

"I think it's a type of fabric."

"It says here to sprinkle pepper. But this one says to hollow the peppers out and stuff them."

"What's that bit?"

"Oh. Black pepper. Green and red peppers. Oh, and there's a reference somewhere to peppercorns."

"Is that like corns on the feet?"

"I think it's something to do with barleycorn, or maybe Cornwall, whatever that was. Why build a wall of food?"

"It does seem rather a waste. Maybe it was food that keeps, and they took bits off when they needed them."

"Built on what?"

"Er…" She trailed off. I don't know what images were in her mind, but I know what images were in mine, and they were really bizarre. We shook our heads in unison.

Someone chuckled.

Just then Tyla and Mitchell came in, looking nervous. "Can we have your attention, please?" Tyla asked a little shakily.

"Sure," Toby said, sitting up and giving his sister a full-strength stare. "What's up?"

"We, ah…" she trailed off. "We want to get married." It came out all in a rush.

I'd thought Tyla could face anything with calm competence. I was wrong.

This once, I didn't mind, and I wondered why not.

Toby leaped up and hugged her; Mitchell received a hearty slap on the back from the newly awakened Travis. Frank was smiling. Jason and Greta were clapping. Micah was laughing.

I felt more of an outsider than ever.

"Frank?" Tyla asked. "Will you..."

"Sure," he smiled. "It's not like this is an instant decision." We all stood up and listened while he preached the most peculiar mess of religion I've ever heard and pronounced them man and wife.

I knew they weren't sleeping alone - sound carries at night. I doubted they'd just decided this. Evidently they'd decided to skip the feast and gifts in favour of also skipping the jokes, teasing and general hard time that people could give even without meaning to. I'd already learned that both of them had been on the atoll for several years. Tyla was twenty-something, she was old for a first marriage. Or a first kid. Could be she'd decided to give Micah's kid a cousin.

I shook the thought aside and went to cook up a really good meal for everyone.


End file.
